


A Marksman's Heritage

by zorlia



Series: The Broken Quiver [1]
Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Clint is part Demigod, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/M, His Grandma is tough as nails, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-11 02:51:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13515138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zorlia/pseuds/zorlia
Summary: Clint Barton was not as human as he believed. He showed up on his Grandmother's doorstep at a young age and in the years she raised him Clint never had a clue as to his true roots. The truth always comes out though.This is not that story.This is the tale of a woman with a strong yet weary heart, and the numerous stories her eyes could, but wouldn't, tell.





	1. The Beginning of the End

_1967_

Evie sat in her chair silently. Clenched in her hands was a mug of tea, the ice long melted since she poured it. Next to her chair Frankie sat on the couch in a lazy sprawl. He looked like a languid cat that was ready for a nap, but Evie knew better. She could feel his eyes on her as they waited. Evie nibbled on her bottom lip as she stared into her drink like it held all the answers of the universe.

“What's the game plan?” Frankie's voice still had it's silky ring to it, the deep timber reverberating in her chest like a drum. Whether it was from him being Aphrodite's son or from years of being married, she didn't know. Evie shrugged at his question, for once unable to think of anything to do about a problem. Give her Monsters and war battles any day and she'd be fine. Dealing with their eighteen year old daughter was nigh impossible for her however.

Frankie got up and crouched in front of her, resting his hands on her wrists gently. Evie let him pull the mug from her hands and set it to the side. He then brushed his hands up and down her arms before linking their hands together and pulling her out of her chair into a hug.

“We'll figure it out.” He kissed into her hair, something that never failed to help calm her. They stayed like that, intertwined and just reveling in their closeness until her leg began to protest. Frankie helped take on her weight as she leaned into him, not quite wanting to rely on her cane just yet.

“Evie,” He began, gearing up for a regular argument, only to stop as they heard the back door creak open. They both froze as footsteps lightly pattered on the wood flooring, and the shadowed body of Mary sneaked up the stairs. She didn't notice her parents in the living room with all the lights off and it being two in the morning.

Evie's hands tightened on Frankie's arms as she heard Mary trying to be quiet as she moved in her room. Frankie made a shushing sound and ran his hands up and down her back. Evie didn't protest when he subtly nudged her cane to her, merely sighing as she released her hold on him and grabbed it. Mary was now coming back down the stairs, a duffel bag slung over her shoulder.

Before she made it down the hallway leading to the back door Frankie turned on the lamp next to Evie's chair. Mary froze at the sudden light, and turned around with a stubborn face that mirrored the one Evie would get when her mind was set. That boded ill for the following conversation.

“You won't stop me.” She snapped, shoulders thrown back and head held high. It made anger curl into Evie's gut as fear clutched at her heart.

“Yes we damn well can and will!” Evie shot, stepping around Frankie and the furniture, limping to stand in front of her daughter. Evie's wasn't much of the intimidating figure she once was; but she wasn't a push over either.

“That boy is bad news and this plan you've concocted has got to be the most harebrained I've seen yet, and I grew up with Clinton Drewmore!” Evie knew it was the wrong thing to say the moment it passed her lips. Mary's face scrunched in a way that it did when she was an infant and was a clear sign of a temper tantrum of epic proportions.

“'That boy' is the man that I happen to be in love with!” She shouted back. Evie barely reigned in a scoff, and tensed as Frankie laid a hand on her shoulder.

“Mary, you're only eighteen.” He started calmly. “You've never dated anyone before Nathan, who's new to town and hasn't made any attempt to come see either me or your mother. Try to see it from our perspective.” Frankie was always the calming pillar in the household, always able to get his girls to see reason. Even now Mary faltered, anger subsiding at his words.

“You guys never had anything good to say about him, and I know you wouldn't approve of him.” She defended. Evie felt a headache at the lame excuse, wondering what choice they made that led to this moment.

“Of course I don't approve of him!” Evie snapped. “He doesn't have a job or home, and after only knowing you for not even a month he wants to sweep you off your feet onto some grand adventure into the wilds of America. It's straight out of a whirlwind romance novel!” The exact kind that Evie hated with a passion only someone related to Apollo could conjure.

“You don't understand! I really do love him, and we'll travel America together before finding our own place to settle!” Evie's mouth parted in shock at the starstruck tone Mary was using. The girl was always an imaginative dreamer growing up, but never had she thought of something so ludicrous.

“Mary, does Nathan know about that?” Frankie asked, likely to be as surprised at Mary's daydream as Evie. Mary blushed and twirled a strand of her hair on her her finger.

“He hasn't said anything about it, but I know that's what he wants too! He said he loves me, and I believe him!” Evie felt a bolt of anger inside her, and she wanted nothing more than to slit this boy's throat for playing with her daughter like this. She knew what Nathan 'loved' about her daughter. And it wasn't her personality.

Despite never officially meeting the boy, Evie had run into him when she was in town. And she heard his crude remarks about the younger girls walking down the streets to the other skeevy men from town. Evie hadn't the heart to tell her daughter his true nature when she knew about the crush, but now she was starting to think that she should have.

“Hey Mare, what's taking so long?” Evie froze and her gaze narrowed onto the very boy they were talking about walked into their home. He was dressed as the classic bad boy from the movies, even going as far as lighting a cigarette as he walked down the hallway.

Evie was in pure shock at the gall of this idiot as he strolled up and pulled Mary to his side by her hip. Beside her she could practically feel Frankie growl. “Remove your hands from my daughter.” The boy looked at Frankie balefully, lifting his cig from his mouth to blow out a cloud of smoke in their direction. Evie stepped forward before Frankie did, knowing that if she didn't then there would be a dead body on their hands.

“Nathan I take it.” It wasn't a question. “I'll ask you only once to leave my house while we have our _private_ family discussion. Mary will not be leaving with you tonight, feel free to leave and never come back.” Because she knew he wouldn't stay until the morning. The sheriff was looking for him, and she doubted Nathan would stay to find out why.

“Mother!” Mary sounded positively scandalized, like Evie was a misbehaving child. That was the last straw. Evie lifted her cane and slammed it to the ground, looking her daughter right in the eyes.

“Do not test me Mary Louise Walker!” Evie hissed. “This vagabond is taking advantage of you and I have held my tongue for too long now! Sheriff Dukeson is looking for him for suspected _armed robbery_! Why in the name of anything good and holy would you want to be with him? He'll only use you and then drop you like yesterday's trash!” Evie then turned back to Nathan.

“I know your type. Times may have changed and the people with it, but there are some things that stay the same no matter the generation. And one of those things are useless bums who only want a girl for her legs and don't care what they have to do or say to get it. So I want you and you're unworthy ass out of my house right now!” Mary's face flushed with anger and she stepped in front of Nathan. His other hand to rest on the other side of her hip and he flashed a sultry smirk at Evie over Mary's head. Evie inhaled deeply, wishing that Clint was around to shoot an arrow in this smug fucker's face.

“Wow Mare, you weren't kidding. You're mom's such a dyke.” The insult went over Evie's head, her anger too bright for her to truly feel insulted. She had been called worse in more creative ways in her lifetime. “You're dad's such a pansy too, letting his woman do all the talking like she wears the pants in the house. I wonder if she tops in bed like a man does.” While the crude words didn't affect Evie, they did affect _Frankie_.

A dagger flew through the air, passing by Nathan and slicing his cheek enough to make a bleeding scratch as it stuck into the wall behind him. Mary yelled in horrified shock as Nathan let out a string of curses, his cigarette falling from his mouth and nearly setting Mary's hair on fire.

“ _Get out._ ” Frankie stepped beside Evie, another throwing knife in his hand ready to sail into the air. Mary was crying as she stared at her parents, and Evie was about to walk forward to yank the girl away while Frankie ran the boy off. She didn't however, when she was pinned by a raging glare from her daughter's hazel eyes.

“How could you do that!” She screeched. “Who does that to people? Who throws knives at their daughter's boyfriend?” Mary stomped to the knife that was stuck in the wall and yanked it out and threw it at her parent's feet.

“I threw that knife at a bastard who was insulting my wife.” Frankie coolly said, blue eyes flinty. Mary looked like she was smacked. She never had to face her father when he was truly angry. It wasn't like Evie, who raged like a tornado of energy. He was more cold and intense, like the strike of a katana blade.

“How could you say that about someone I love?” Mary looked truly hurt at the expression on her father's face. All of his emotions were closed off, and he no longer looked like the happy cheerful goof Mary knew him as. He was now standing straight and serious, like a soldier in the military. Like the son of a Goddess.

“If you truly love him, even after he said such a thing about your mother, then go. Leave, and don't come back until you realize what _love_ really is. Because what you're feeling? It isn't that; and it's disrespecting to call it anything like the real deal.” Nathan rose from his crouch and looked ready to murder someone, but the looks on Frankie and Evie's faces must have changed his mind.

“Let's go Mary!” He snarled, stalking out of the house. Mary hesitated, crying eyes staring at her father in numb shock. Evie wanted nothing more than to grab her daughter and hold her back, lock her away now that the idiot was out of the house.

But Frankie made his decision, and Evie would stand by her husband. Whatever she tried with Mary never worked, maybe this was a lesson she couldn't teach her daughter. Maybe it was something only Frankie could impart, and if he thought this was best, then maybe she should let it go.

There was blaring of a car horn and it startled Mary into action. With a _hitching_ breath she grabbed her bag and ran out without saying goodbye, which to be fair they didn't say goodbye either. Frankie and Evie stood in place well after they heard the tires squeal out of the property.

Mary would travel with Nathan, and when he dumped her, she would come back. And Evie would welcome her inside with minimal grumbling and they would work to patch things from there. Evie gave it three months.

She could wait three months.

 

 

_1940:_

Despite the dark times surrounding the world, Camp Half-Blood stayed true and unchanging. Chiron still trained the campers, albeit more ruthlessly lately, and Mr. D remained his bored and aggrieved sober self. The camp was currently abuzz with a heavy tension unlike any other. Pearl Harbor was attacked, and America has entered the war in Europe. The Ares cabin was in an uproar, every one of them were chomping at the bit to ship out.

It made Evelyn scoff at their bullheadedness. It was noontime, which meant weapons training in the arena. It was Evelyn's cabin versus the Ares cabin. Normally only Evelyn would be able to avoid a horrid beat down dealt by the war blooded kids. All of Evelyn's siblings were more adept with a bow than a bladed weapon. The gifts of being Apollo's child.

“Damn it!” Evelyn glanced a look to her left. George Larks, a broad shouldered boy with nasty grin and even worse temper, cursed impressivly at the sword at his neck. Evelyn didn't watch the commotion any further, having to deal with her own sparring partner. The girl, Penelope Grant, was sneering down at Evelyn darkly. Evelyn rose an eyebrow regally and mutely parried the snarling girl's attack. Penelope used a sword shield combo that made it difficult to get close or deal damage. Evelyn, a smaller and unable to carry that much weight in battle, had only a sword and leather armor for defense. From the outside, it would be obvious who should be the winner of the duel.

Yet Penelope, like all her siblings, was not fully paying attention to the spar. Her mind was divided between Evelyn and the news that had been delivered. It gave Evelyn just enough of a chance to side step and raise her blade as Penelope charged in anger. Their blades clashed and slid, sparks flying as the celestial bronze screeched in protest. Penelope pulled back for an instant, wanting to avoid Evelyn't sword catching her hand, and it gave all the opening needed as she tripped on her momentum.

Evenly twirled and snapped a dagger from her belt with her left hand, dropping the sword, and flicked it to her right hand. She stepped in close and snaked her arm around Penelope's throat before the girl could right herself.

“Yield.” The dagger was held at Penelope's throat and Evelyn had a firm hold on the girl's neck to keep her from escaping. Penelope didn't speak for a beat, breathing heavily through her nose. Evelyn twisted her hips ever so slightly and brought the flat of the dagger flush to the girl's neck without a word.

“I yield.” The surrender was spat, and Evelyn knew that the older girl was envisioning her gruesome death. She released her hold and stepped back, slipping the dagger back into its sheath. Penelope rubbed her neck with a glare in Evelyn's direction as she picked up her discarded sword. She made a mental note to stay within sword's distance of Penelope for the rest of the week.

Now that she was done with her spar Evelyn took the time to look around the arena. All the other pairs were similar to what she expected. Apollo's cabin had the advantage today as the others were all wrapped up in their heads with thoughts of the oncoming war. Penelope and her siblings were getting their asses kicked because of it.

“Don't look so smug Freak.” Evelyn tensed, turning her attention back to Penelope. The girl was still breathing heavy, now more so to anger than weariness. Penelope's dark hair was matted with sweat, the short strands tangled into a mess from the helmet she was no longer wearing. Her enormous height coupled with the raging glint in her umber eyes made her look like an Amazonian warrior ready to kill.

Evelyn was sure she didn't look anything close to the same. Her ginger hair had been pulled into a braid, but judging from the amount of hair in her face Evelyn figured the tie came undone. Her fair complexion was likely to be flushed from exertion, highlighting the hoard of freckles that dusted her cheekbones and nose.

“I'm sorry?” Evelyn asked, forcing her face into one of nonchalance. Penelope's lip raised in a mockery of a grin. She looked more like a hungry wolf to Evelyn.

“You heard me, Freak.” She mocked. “You're probably happy that for once you don't look out of place with your weakling cabin.” Evelyn couldn't help the downturn of her lips, hazel eyes hardening at the dark satisfaction blooming on Penelope's face.

“Oooh, did I hit a nerve?” She crooned. “Poor little Evelyn Larkson, the Freak from Cabin Seven. Can't walk into the infirmary without fainting and is banned from the archery lanes because she so terrible with a bow.” Penelope gave a lazy shrug with a roll of her eyes. Her grin remained, growing into a toothy smile as Evelyn's mask fractured into a look of boiling rage.

“Some even wonder if maybe her father claimed her out of pity. That she's not actually-” Penelope blocked Evelyn's attack with a gleeful laugh.

 


	2. And with a Skip, the Ripples Flow

_1930:_

"Do it again." Evelyn sighed but did as her mother said. She listened as the older woman hit the first few bars on the piano and then opened her mouth to sing. It was early that misty morning, and the small child would much rather be in bed. It was bad enough when she was forced to rise early on Sundays for the church choir. Her mother would hear nothing of Evelyn's complaints however. All it would get was a scolding on her 'unladylike' behavior and possibly a swat on the arm if she was being really persistent. Evelyn was a quick study, and knew better than to push her luck. Evelyn was also a stubborn mule at times though, and even if she was forced to sing she certainly wasn't liking it. Since it wasn't church choir Evelyn didn't bother forcing her face to look cheerful or enthused. Instead her face was flat and showing her complete and utter boredom.

Evelyn wanted to be anywhere that wasn't there. She could hear the other kids in the neighborhood playing in the street. Baseball or tag most likely. Maybe the other girls would have some jump rope handy to play with. That'd be fun. Evelyn discreetly leaned toward the window and peeked through the draping down at the street. Sure enough, all the kids were out and about as they had fun that Saturday. Evelyn's lips crinkled as she turned away, voice barely faltering as her mood soured even more. It wasn't fair. _T_ _hey_ got to have fun outside while she was stuck there. Singing dumb songs that she didn't even like. It made her mad.

"EVELYN!" Evelyn jumped up with her mouth clanking shut. Her mother had pressed down on the keys harshly and was staring down at her hands. Her chest was heavy as if she had just ran a lot and her arms were trembling. Nothing was said for a beat, and Evelyn watched her mother in slight fear. She hated it when this happened. When her mother got real angry out of nowhere. It only happened when Evelyn sang. The girl never knew what it was she did wrong, but randomly her mother would just get so mad. It was scary.

Her mother breathed harshly for another beat before straightening her back.  She looked to Evelyn with a tight smile, eyes sharp with leashed fury that sent chills down Evelyn's spine. "Do it again, with more feeling." Evelyn hesitated before numbly dipping her head. She moved so that the window was behind her and put more focus to the song. She didn't want to mess up again. There were only so many times Evelyn would be allowed to mess up before her mother got fed up.

That was when she  _really_ got scary.

 

_2012:_

Evie's hands were bone white from how hard she was gripping the arm rests of her chair. In front of her the national news was playing a live feed of New York. Above Stark Tower a portal was open in the sky and weird creatures that were fit to be any Greek monster were pouring out on flying vehicles. There was even a giant whale-like being that swam through the winds like a Zephyr. In the midst of what was obviously an alien invasion, Iron Man was zooming around giving air support to the those on the ground. There was even sightings of _Captain America_ running around with his shield giving orders to the police forces.

All of that was reason enough for her hard pressed stare. Yet, what caught her attention, was the few moments the camera caught the image of one of the aliens being downed by an arrow. There were only a small amount of people who were talented enough to use a bow in real live combat. And of those, there was only one person who would use purple fletching.

Last Evie heard, Clint was working at a base across the country for SHIELD for something top secret. Evie never did like the 'security company'. The lie made Evie want to spit. She wasn't stupid, Evie always knew that SHIELD was something more than what Clint talked about. The fact that he hid the true purpose of his employers made her wary of the company. She didn't trust them with Clint and his gift with a bow. Seeing what she did now on the TV confirmed her suspicions. SHIELD had something to do with the government. They had to, in order to have any authority in a battle field on US soil. The fact that Clint was there, instead of holed up in some lab in Nevada (if that was where the base really was) proved SHIELD's involvement.

Whatever SHIELD had him doing, it must have been serious if he didn't tell her the truth. Maybe they had some dirt on him to keep the boy quiet, but Evie doubted that. She taught Clint to be better than that, he'd be able to still let her know what was going on without actually saying anything. That only left with Clint not telling her on purpose. Meaning he wasn't proud of what he was doing.

Evie's frown twisted into a grimace. As soon as she was able, she was going to call Clint down and give her grandson a smack to the head. Even if she had to call him from the clutches of Hades himself.

In the meantime, she watched what parts of the battle she could, fervently wishing she was young again. Evie would be in the thick of the battle in a heartbeat, sword swinging with the confidence of a finely trained Demigod. Even if she wanted or were in a position to, Evie couldn't help now. Not with her bad leg and heart. She'd only be a hindrance, an old lady getting in the way of younger and more capable fighters.

Still, Evie glanced to her right, where her dagger was sitting on the side table. It was the same dagger she carried with her in the 40's. The celestial bronze was as well kept as Evie could manage without an actual smithy. She reached out a wrinkled hand and grasped the hilt, pulling the blade into her lap.

A couple of minutes of searching found her sharpening kit. Evie spent the rest of the afternoon watching the battle and sharpening her dagger, thoughts of what exactly she was going to tell her grandson when she next saw him. She didn't know what he was involved in, but she damn well was going to find out.

The battle wasn't long, in comparison to other historical battles in war, but it was just as deadly. They managed to keep the aliens rounded up within Manhattan, keeping the damages reduced to a single area. The city was destroyed by the end, the aliens all dying after Iron Man flew into the portal. All in all, it was a miracle they won.

By the time she turned the news off Evie had sharpened half of her armory and it was a well into the night. She looked down at her feet where all her weapons were lying with a sigh. She really didn't think her plan for a menial distraction through. While the familiar movements of fixing up the weapons helped keep her calm and prevented any possible panic attacks, now she had to haul all of them back into the weapon's closet.

 _Knock. Knock._ Evie looked at the clock on the wall. It was almost nine in the evening, and she wasn't expecting any visitors. She grumbled under breath before pulling herself out of her chair, cane gripped firmly in hand. She slipped her dagger into a pocket, ready for an emergency. Evie might be an old woman now, but she'd be dammed if she won't take any attacker with her into death.

The knocking continued, irritating her. “Keep your knickers on, I'm coming!” She bellowed with a frown. The knocking stopped thankfully. It took a bit to hobble to the door, which furthered worsened her mood. Her handicap never failed to put her into a bad mood, a reminder of what she once was and can no longer be a part of.

Fucking Monsters and their sneak attacks.

Evie flicked the porch light on and cracked the door open. In front of her door were three kids who looked ready to drop. Two boys and a girl, all three covered in grime and dirt, their bodies sagging with exhaustion but their faces tight with anxious awareness. Even without seeing the goat legs on one of the boys, a skinny thing with a scraggly goatee and a hippie beanie hat, their expressions tipped Evie off on what they were.

Evie shut the door to unlock the chain and pulled the door open further. The girl stepped forward, blonde hair pulled back into a loose ponytail and familiar grey eyes. She was a child of Athena, Evie would swear it on her mother's grave.

“Excuse me, but a friend of ours said this was a safe house for travelers. His name is-”

“Chiron.” Evie finished with a raised eyebrow. “He still the activities director at the camp?” The girl nodded her head, and started to delve further into their story with the confirmation that Evie knew about the Gods. As she talked Evie looked at the third traveler. He was lanky boy, likely growing into his limbs from puberty, and had a mop of dark hair hair that needed a good combing. His eyes were a sharp sea-green and he was clutching a capped pen in his hand. Evie noted that it was probably a hidden weapon of a sort, likely a sword, and grinned sharply as she saw him look her over as well. He blanched and looked away, grip tightening onto the pen. Definitely a weapon.

“-So may we please stay here?” Evie looked back to the girl, Annabeth she introduced herself as. Evie looked her and her friends over one more time. Sighing, she stepped to the side and held the door open, letting the kids inside. As she closed the door, she looked into the fields across the road. She didn't see anything, but that didn't mean much anymore. Evie's eyes aren't what they used to be.

As the kids walked into the living room Evie re-locked the door and joined them, moving slowly to the kitchen that was separated from the living room by an open half wall. The kids were all standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, looking around in open curiosity.

“That's a lot weapons.” The green eyed boy mentioned, eyes set on the pile in front of her recliner. Evie shrugged as she moved in the kitchen, pulling out ingredients for spaghetti. It wouldn't be much, but she was sure they were hungry.

“This is more than just a safe house.” She explained. “Demigods can come here to rest or refill on supplies when on a quest.” She paused when pulling out the box of noodles, and gave the trio a questioning glare.

“Though, it has been a long time since I saw anyone from Camp Half-Blood on a quest. I remember that Chiron sent a letter stating that there would be no more quests.” At the time she had rolled her eyes, knowing that the decree wouldn't last all that long. If it was one thing she learned about her Greek heritage, it was that the Gods would always want to send out a Demigod to do their dirty work. It was only a matter of time before the quests started up again. That said, it wasn't like Chiron to send out anyone without sending notice to Evie. Especially after how long it had been since the last quest.

“Ah, this is kinda a last minute quest.” Annabeth hurried to explain. “There wasn't enough time to let you know, Chiron sends his apologies.” Smart girl. Though, it was ruined by the fact he could have IM'd Evie at any time, but still. Evie pretended to take the excuse at face value and continued to start making the meal. She was there to help Demigods, not to pry into their lives and reasons for showing up at her doorstep.

“Well, my services aren't free. Two of you pick up those weapons and take them to the spare bedroom's closet. It's the first room on the right down that hallway.” Evie pointed the way with her cane. “The spare one of you is going to help me make dinner.” The three hesitated before doing as she said, the two boys heading for the pile of weapons and the girl stepping into the kitchen.

“Now,” Evie began as they worked. “Tell me your names again, and what supplies are you low on?” The two girls chattered about supply necessities and the like as the boys slowly cleared up the mess in the front room.

Evie's mind was still on her grandson back in New York, but helping these three helped keep her mind busy and her heart calm. Clint would be fine. Evie would help these three kids out before she figured out what she was going to do about him.

 

_1943:_

“Evie!” Evelyn didn't stop in her patrol, eyes firmly ahead as she walked the camp line. Sadly, it didn't stop her follower. “Evie! Wait up!” She could hear the heavy footsteps of someone jogging in leather armor, the tell tale sound of a quiver bouncing and hitting the boy's hip, because he was an idiot who wanted to stand out and 'go against the grain'. Sometimes she swore that he was more of a primadonna than the kids of Aphrodite.

An arm was swung over her shoulder and Evelyn bowed at the added weight as the grey eyed boy leaned heavily onto her. Snarling, Evelyn brushed him off and quickened her pace. Clinton merely laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he grinned.

“Aw come on!” He whined, catching up with her all too soon for her taste. “Being partnered with me can't be that bad Evie!” Evelyn stopped and turned, glaring at the taller male with a firey expression that made Monsters even flinch. Clinton seemed to be immune however.

“Stop calling me that.” She gritted out. “My name is Evelyn, not Evie. And being partnered to you is 'that bad' you loon.” Clinton didn't look offended, having the gall to smile even more. It pissed her off. Why he couldn't be like the other Athena kids? It must have been prolonged exposure to the Hermes cabin. Clinton had been in the camp the longest amount of time, and only was just recently claimed.

How he was Athena's son, Evelyn didn't know. He was an idiot, and it was an unspoken rule that Athena kids were supposed to be the smartest. Clinton couldn't see that being partnered with her was a joke among the camp. The two oddballs who didn't belong in their own cabins. The Apollo kid who couldn't shoot a bow and fought like a child of Ares. Then there was the son of Athena who failed at every strategy challenge and was only good with shooting arrows, being as good as some of Evelyn's siblings.

The two who were mistakenly claimed.

It made Evelyn sick and angry enough to want to burn the whole camp to the ground. The only reason she didn't do it was that it would probably only further fan the rumors. Fire was an ability for Hephaestus after all.

“So cold.” Clinton teased, eyes alight with a happy spark. Evelyn rolled her eyes and turned back to the path. They had a job to do, she wasn't going to let a monster invade the camp on her watch. Evelyn didn't set a fast pace this time, figuring it would only serve her unwell and make her tired if there was a fight during the patrol.

For a few minutes, it was blissfully silent. Then: “Sooo, I was talking with Chiron earlier.” Evelyn hummed, not really paying attention. It was no secret that Chiron was going to send someone onto a quest soon. He had been pulling aside a few campers that day, checking the prospects out.

Not Evelyn of course, she thought grimly. He'd never send her out if he could help it. Imagine Apollo's shame if he kid failed a quest because she couldn't shoot a bow like a true child of his should. Evelyn wouldn't be surprised if her father actually forbade Chiron from letting her go on a quest. She refused the one gift she did have from her father and failed at all the other aspects of his attributes. Then again, in order for him to make such a demand he had to know of her existence. The last time Apollo was at the camp, a couple years ago, he didn't recognize her. He didn't know her name, and even went as far as implying she belonged to a different cabin. He forgot about her.

Clinton pouted from her lack of enthusiasm, pulling out an arrow to twirl in his hand. “Don't you want to know what we talked about?” He asked, attempting a puppy dog look. Evelyn refrained from rolling her eyes again, her mother's voice reprimanding such an unladylike expression in her head.

“Not really, but you're going to tell me anyway.” Because Clinton was unable to stay silent for any amount of time. And for some Godsforsaken reason he thought of her as a friend and was deemed as an acceptable person to spill any and all thoughts that ran through his head to. Evelyn was not asked if she wished to be his confident, for if she was it would have been a resounding no.

“Haha, well you're not wrong.” Evelyn heaved a sigh, pursing her lips as he chuckled. “Chiron was asking all kinds of questions, like how my training was going and how I was adjusting to the cabin move.” Which wasn't going well. Clinton complained to her all the time how different his siblings were and how he missed living in cabin eleven. Evelyn doubted that Clinton told Chiron that though, not even he would have been that stupid and possibly ruin his chance at getting a quest.

“What did you say to him?” She asked, squinting into the forest when she heard a noise. It turned into just being a fox, so she ignored it. Clinton didn't answer right away, causing her to look at him, frowning at the strange look on his face. His eyes were staring at her with the lids at half mast and a thoughtful gleam. Evelyn felt her face flush at the attention and scowled up at him.

“What?” She demanded. Clinton's face cleared in a blink, his easy grin returning. Evelyn let out a curse as he snagged her arm and pulled her close in a side hug.

“Haha, so you _do_ care!” He laughed, pulling her along the patrol path. Evelyn squirmed as she tried to separate herself the crazy boy. She hated his guts and wished that they were never assigned the same patrol route!

“I do not you blubbering buffoon!” She shrieked, half ready to pull a blade on him. The forest birds scattered at his bellowing laugh and her insistent complaints.

 


	3. How Far Will the Apple Fall From the Tree?

_1943_

“THIS WAS A GODSDAMNED MISTAKE DREWMORE!” Evelyn slid underneath a stalled jeep as the hydra raged an inferno of flames at her back. When Clinton had been chosen for the quest and he asked Evelyn to join, she almost declined just on principle. She didn't though, knowing it was her only chance at being to prove herself worthy of her father. To get his attention in a proper way as his daughter.

Now, as she dodged attacks from Nazi freaks with ray guns straight from pulp fiction novels and their pet Monsters, she was beginning to think that she should have stuck to her instincts and told Clinton no. The boy in question was off trying to take down the Nazis as she distracted the collar bound hydra; which was an image she never thought to see. Demigods in the war was one thing, but Demigods using the very things that try to kill them as weapons of war? What has the universe come to?

“Evie!” Evelyn's teeth clacked at the nickname as Francis Walker, a son of Aphrodite who was Clinton's friend from their times as bunk mates in cabin eleven, rushed to her side.

He, like all of Aphrodite's kids, was unfairly attractive. Tall and tanned with bright blue eyes that practically sparkled with his personality, Francis was the camp's heart-throb. Evelyn never cared, and she didn't care even more especially now when they were all about to die.

“I found the information we needed, now we just need to kill the hydra and escape.” Francis was dressed in the same uniform as the Nazi's, having gone undercover as he tried to find the papers they had infiltrated the camp for.

“When you say it like that it's like it should be easy.” Evelyn grumbled, peeking around the side of the jeep to check that the hydra had turned. Luckily it did. Francis laughed, much like Clinton would have, and Evelyn gritted her teeth as the sound sent bubbles into her stomach. Damn Aphrodite spawn child with his love voo-doo.

“With you here it will be! When have your plans failed us yet?” He asked, leaning around her to get a look at the camp. Clinton was barely in sight as he was flying through the Nazi ranks, taking down as many as possible. They didn't have long until the hydra started to attack him as well.

“Don't say that, it'll change our abnormally good luck.” Something she didn't want to change. Already there were plenty of times of where they should have died horrifically but didn't. She would like to keep that pattern up.

“Okay, I got an idea. We're going to go in, and you're going to distract it.” Evelyn felt before she heard Francis hum in response. His chest was pressed against her back as they peeked around the jeep, and the rumbling vibrated her back like a cat's purr. Evelyn bit her lip to keep from snapping out. Hadn't anyone heard of personal space before?

“And what will you do?” He asked. Evelyn pulled away from him and rose from her crouch to get in a running position.

“Don't worry about that. If you can, tell Clinton to grab one of those flamethrowers.” They'll need it, because what Evelyn had in mind won't be enough to kill the Hydra. Before Francis could question her further on it she took off running, forcing him to follow.

As they got closer they split, Francis going one way and she the other. Evelyn took cover and watched as Francis used charm-speak to catch the monster's attention after shouting at Clinton about the flamethrower.

Evelyn readied her sword as she waited for an opening, steadying her breath as much as possible. A beat passed, and the opening was there. She didn't waste a second, sprinting at full speed past the surprised Francis.

Like a man going for the home plate in baseball Evelyn dropped to the ground and slid in the mud with her sword raised high. The blade caught the scales and dug in, slowing her down as she sliced open his chest. When it looked like she was going to stop Evelyn stumbled to her feet and ran, dragging the sword above her head. Guts and blood spilled onto her as she disemboweled the Monster, but she refused to stop. By the time she reached the end of the body she barely got out before the hydra fell onto her body.

There wouldn't be much time before the hydra began to heal. She she ran up the hydra's back and started to chop at the first head she got to. Beneath her on the ground Francis and Clinton were staring at her in shock, the flamethrower limp in their grips.

“When the head falls, torch the stub! Like Heracles did!” If they cauterize the stubs, then the hydra can't regenerate the heads, and with no heads, it would die and return to Tarturaus. The boys snapped out of it and they quickly followed her directions until every head was gone. Evelyn jumped off the Hydra as it began to explode into Monster dust, signifying its death. The camp was now empty, either meaning Clinton killed all the Nazi's or the enemy retreated.

She was covered in Hydra gunk and was smelling something terrible as she stuck her into the ground and leaned against it. The two boys were back to staring at her with differing expressions. Clinton looked like a puppy who was given a new toy, a grin splitting his face and she could almost see a tail wagging behind him with the vibes he was expelling.

Francis looked like he was smacked, his mouth agape and a unusual look in his eyes. She didn't know what his problem was but it was pissing her off. If he was going to complain about her state of dress she was going to kill him and blame it on the hydra when they returned to camp.

“Marry me.” Clinton guffawed at the breathless request while Evelyn blanched in horror. Francis had stars in his eyes though, like nothing was wrong.

“No.” What the Hades was going on here?

  


_1972_

There were two funerals. The first was the official one, mostly for the government and those who were Frankie's friends in town. His father and some of his family came down as well, and it was a beautiful service. Evie didn't cry once. Her back bowed and fingernails dug into her arms hard enough to leave marks, but she didn't cry.

Mary never showed. Evie knows that she got the notice. She paid the hefty price of Olympus postal service, and even paid for the Hermes Express Way, ensuring the funeral notice would make it in time. Evie might not know where her daughter was, but Hermes would be sure to find her. So, she was left to think only one thing. Mary didn't want to come to her own father's funeral.

It hurt, maybe even more so than Frankie's death had hurt. Evie felt like her heart was cracked into so many pieces. First was Clint, then Mary, now Frankie and the thought of Mary no longer wanting anything to do with Evie and Frankie, even in death, killed the older woman. She didn't know how she was going to survive. Frankie and Mary were the only things keeping her going. And now she's lost them both in one go. One gone in the afterlife and the other close enough to reach but unable to touch. It was maddening.

Evie was scared. She was always an angry girl, and that never really changed. Frankie and Clinton first helped smooth her edges down, and then being married to Frankie and having Mary helped her settle in her skin in ways she never thought possible. With them gone, she felt like she was going to rattle out of control and turn into a ball of rage. Rage at the world for taking her loved ones, rage at those who left her behind, rage at herself for falling in love and making such attachments in the first place.

It scared Evie because she didn't want to be angry like she used to be. But she didn't know how to keep it from happening when it hurt so much.

After the casket was lowered and the service was over, Evie didn't move from her chair, not even after everyone else began to pack up and leave. They were going to the farm house, where the wake would start. Any time someone wanted to talk to Evie she shooed them off, staring down at the hole where her 'husband' was resting. There was nothing left from the fire that had blazed after he was slain by the chimera. Frankie was smiling as he set the trap off, even knowing what would happen. That dammed idiot.

“He loved you.” Evie startled, blinking back tears she didn't realize she was shedding. A woman in black was sitting next to her, dark chocolate hair in pinned curls and blue eyes looking at Evie solemnly. Her high cheekbones and the slant of her nose was the mirror image of Frankie, which would have given her away even without the wealth of knowledge in her eyes.

“He left me.” The words were croaked out, like they were being dragged out of her throat. It felt like they were, after the amount of screaming she did the night before. Aphrodite did not take offense, only smiling at Evie with the same inflection of Frankie's mouth. It hurt so much to see this powerful being with Frankie's expressions. When she'd never see _him_ smile at her like that again.

“You loved him too.” Aphrodite countered. Evie looked away, not able to refute it. By Olympus had she loved Frankie. Even when she shouldn't have. She was connected to him. Aphrodite rested a gloved hand onto Evie's own that were clutching at her cane in a death grip.

“I don't have many sons.” The Goddess started, face not looking at Evie but at the hole in the ground. “And even fewer had the gift of charm-speak. He was special, and he loved you more than he did anything else in this world. I don't understand it. You are a ruffian who is far from beautiful and have a terrible personality.” Evie laughed at the disapproving tone Aphrodite was using, so much like her own mother it was humorous. Once upon a time that would have angered Evie, but now, after being married to Frankie for so long, it didn't. Frankie never cared, so she didn't bother to either.

“That's why I never meddled too much. Francis might have had odd tastes, but you loved him too. Which was enough.” Aphrodite rose from her chair and started to walk away, pausing just before leaving the chair row.

“Francis loves you even in death, and because of that he left you a gift. Be grateful for my son's sacrifice.” Her voice was cold, demanding. Evie bristled, but held her tongue. She wasn't stupid enough to get herself killed just yet. Frankie wouldn't like it, and Clinton would never let her hear the end of it.

“Of course. May I ask what it is he left me?” She hadn't seen anything that had stood out as a memento. There was no answer and when Evie looked up, Aphrodite was gone. Evie sighed, not entirely surprised.

Later that week, as she was getting ready to leave for New York, Evie noticed a strange addition. Around the property of her house, starting from a couple of feet from the road and stretching all the way to the edges of the forest and fields that surrounded her home, was a long chain of flowers. It was like something from a fairy tale. The flowers were Forget-Me-Not's, and the implications of their symbolism brought a fresh wave of sadness and tears to Evie.

She carefully crouched down and touched the petals, feeling the magic thrumming within them. Obviously they were more than just a sweet gesture made by her husband in his last throws of death. And there was no way he could have done it on his own, Frankie never had powers over plants. So, his mother must have helped. Evie wasn't a hundred percent sure, but she had a fairly good idea just what the ring of flowers was meant for.

When she got to Long Island and entered the camp for the second funeral for her husband, Evie asked Chiron if he wanted another safe house to put on the map.

  


_1990_

Natasha Romanov was not what Evie was expecting when Clint said he was bringing someone else instead of Phil for the holiday. She was a quiet person, and was perfectly polite with a demure smile that would put most people at ease. It only made her hackles raise. If Natasha was a Demigod, something Evie was suspecting even more as the days passed, then her Godly parent would either be Apollo or Aphrodite. Her acting skills were nothing to scoff at, going as far as being better than most in Hollywood. Her whole charade of being a 'simple coworker friend' was enough to make Evie wonder if they were siblings.

Her looks were a factor as well though. Average height was enhanced with a hourglass figure Evie's mother would have died for. Her face was small, with impish features that gave her an elf's ethereal image. The most defining feature was her deep garnet hair that curled at the shoulders. Coupled with her sharp green eyes made for a beautiful specimen.

So, Natasha was either her sister, or her sister-in-law. Not that she would know either way. Evie caught Natasha eyeing her as she was sharpening her dagger. The woman wasn't staring so much at Evie though; never making a more normal response to the image of an old grandmother with a sharp blade in her hands. No, Natasha's eyes were on the dagger itself, a curious tilt to her head.

“What metal is that?” She finally asked. Evie hummed as she inspected the edge of the blade. In the background Clint was banging up a storm as he dragged out the necessary pots and pans for dinner. He insisted on making all by himself, since Evie would be cooking for Thanksgiving the next day.

“Bronze.” This was not a lie, celestial bronze is still a type of bronze metal. Evie peeked a look to the shrewd look that Natasha suddenly gave her, her lips thinning to a line. Evie suppressed a chuckle. Most people would take the answer at face value and accept it as is. Clint even did that, despite her trying to raise him to be smarter.

“I thought that bronze wasn't used all that much any more?” It was said airily, like she had no clue as to what she was talking about, eyes now wide and innocent. Evie let herself smile now. She had almost this exact same conversation with Phil last year.

“This was specially made.” Straight from the smithy of Cabin Nine in fact. Natasha nodded her head in faux acceptance and her stubbornness to stay in 'character' amused Evie.

“I could have one made for you, I know a guy in Long Island. His name is Chiron.” Evie carefully watched Natasha's face, looking for any indication of her recognizing the name. Natasha's face remained blank as she pretended to think it over.

“I don't think that would be necessary. I have my own knife for emergencies.” Evie gave Natasha a toothy grin.

“Who said this is just for emergencies?” Natasha smiled something real as Evie held the dagger aloft. Her face scrunched into an almost feral look, like a wild fox. Natasha then left as the smell of smoke came from the kitchen and Clint's swearing got louder.

Evie laughed under breath and hummed an old tune from camp. Natasha hadn't known Chiron's name, so there was no way she could be a Demigod. It would be impossible for one to live as long as her without any training at the camp. Still, Evie pursed her lips and looked over her shoulder at the sight of Natasha teasing Clint as they tried to salvage the dinner. Even if she wasn't a Demigod, having a set of celestial bronze daggers wouldn't hurt to have. It'd make a lovely Christmas present for sure, given the way she was staring at the blade.

 


	4. And Still the World Turns

_1943:_

If there was anything that Evelyn's mother liked about her daughter, it was her hair. That was still subjected to disappointing looks and snide comments of course, but that was moot. Evelyn never bothered to cut it, so it was to a length that her mother approved of. Evelyn didn't care much for the hair in the first place, always just tying back into a braid to keep it out of the way.

Now that it was all cut off, styled into a man's hair as much as they were able with only a knife available, Evelyn was at a mental crossroad. She wanted to laugh at the image of her mother's reaction to the hair cut. Yet, Evelyn was also mournful of the lack of hair, mostly from the warmth it would give her neck during the cold nights.

No matter her feelings, it had to be done. There was a US camp ahead, and they couldn't risk camping without their patrol chancing upon them. They also couldn't sneak around, their security being much tighter than other camps they came across. So, they had to go through the camp.

It wasn't all that bad really. Dressed as soldiers, the three Demigods might be able to get a better night's sleep and even a hot meal. They cut Evelyn's hair because there was no way she could pass off as a boy with long hair. Her small height and lithe figure alone was going to raise a few eyebrows. She wrapped her breasts as tight as possible to keep her bust from being too noticeable and Evelyn was going to avoid speaking if at all possible.

The place was packed and rowdy as hell. There was some event going on, Evelyn could spy some workers setting up a makeshift stage at the front of the camp. She settled closer to her spot in between Francis and Clinton.

“What's going on?” She murmured softly. They both shrugged, just as unknowing as she was. Clinton saw a meal line and made a path there. Whatever it was that was going on was put to the back burner as they focused on getting a proper meal.

The line moved slow and by the time all three of them had their bowls of bean soup the stage was finished. They traded curious looks and followed the crowd to the front of the stage and waited. They didn't have to wait long.

“GENTLEMEN OF THE UNITED STATES ARMY!” The mic announcer was a thin man dressed smartly, a bright smile fixed on his face. The soldiers around her all stared with bored faces, dirt and mud caked onto their faces and weariness evident. They were not the most receiving crowd.

“I PRESENT TO YOU, CAPTAIN AMERICA AND THE LADY LIBERTIES!” A march band tune started and beautiful women dressed up like skimpy flags danced out singing an awful song that made Evelyn want to scratch her ears off.

“What is this?” She hissed, hackles raised. Clinton let out a wolf whistle, drowned out by the other soldiers doing the same. Francis let out a whoop of a holler and gave Evelyn a shrug.

“I think it's a moral boosting thing.” He said. Evelyn scowled, not impressed in the slightest. This wasn't moral boosting. This was flashing some skin at touch starved men and calling it a show. The song went on, something that Evelyn thought was the true crime, and then a large figure strode onto the stage.

A man who looked like he popped straight out of Greek myths walked onto the stage. He strutted around as the women sang, a smile so fake on him that it made Evelyn sick. He called _that_ acting? The show went on and he lifted a motorbike with the girls sitting on top to show his super human strength. Evelyn wasn't impressed, knowing that the bike was likely a prop of some sort.

The song came to an end, thank the Gods, and the Captain walked up to the microphone to give his speech. Evelyn listened idly while eating her soup. This, she decided, was much more moral boosting, even if it was ridiculous and obviously scripted by idiots who had no idea what was happening in the war. She eyed him carefully. He was reading the script off that blasted shield of his! She saw his eyes moving to it several times as his speech faltered. He couldn't even remember a few lines!

“Ridiculous.” She muttered. When the crowd started throwing food she was almost tempted to do the same. That level of acting didn't deserve to be seen by anyone. She was hungry though. So she let the others do the work for her. Clinton whistled lowly with a sympathetic grimace.

“Tough crowd.” He mused. “Poor guy.” Evelyn rolled her eyes and roughly elbowed him in the gut.

“He'd have gotten worse in Ancient Greece if he tried that level of acting in the plays.” They would have ran him out of town. Evelyn watched with an indifferent face as Captain America ran off the stage.

She had heard all kinds of stories about the guy. She supposed this proved how far propaganda could stretch the truth.

  


_2014:_

There was knocking at Evie's door. She scowled down at the pie she was attempting to make. It was going terribly, this being the third try at making the crust. Her leg was flaring like a fire from her hip to the chest after standing for so long. She was frustrated, in pain, and hungry.

If this was anything other than a girl scout selling cookies, she was going to murder someone. Probably whoever was knocking at the door.

She patted her flour crusted hands on her apron and grabbed her cane in a harsh grip. It took some time to hobble from the kitchen to the door. She was slower than normal from the pain that was gripping her. She may have overdone it this time. If Frankie were here he'd be giving her a frown and would lecture her for ignoring her limits. Clinton would force her to sit and go answer the door himself as Frankie got her the pain meds and finished the pie himself.

She really missed those two boys.

“Who is it?” She didn't bother glancing through the crack of the door when she opened it. She didn't plan on giving whoever was visiting her time of day. Unless it was a passing demigod of course, but that was beside the point.

There was a pause where she could hear the shuffling of feet and hushed whispers. She couldn't hear what was said exactly with her bad hearing. Clint was harping at her to get hearing aids, and a wheelchair for the matter. She refused both. She was old, not disabled. Hearing aids needed batteries which meant trips to the city. She hated driving in the city.

“Uh, my name's Steve. I'm a friend of Clint Barton's. He said that my friend and I could come here after our car broke down. Did he not call you?” Evie's mouth soured with each word. Clint. Damn boy getting her mixed up in his antics even when he was across the country.

She mulled over what to do. On the one hand, this was a friend of her grandson, whom rarely visits and only lets people he truly trusts with her home address. On the other hand, she was in a terrible mood and would be more likely to stab these people than be kind. She tapped her cane on the ground in a slow rhythm as she thought.

“What's wrong with your car?” She asked, then shook her head. “Never mind. You have it at Bernie's?” Bernie was the local town's mechanic. He was hack if you asked Evie. The man sat on his projects for weeks at a time before he got to working on them, stating that he was 'waiting for parts'. Nothing was a simple tune up for him. No one went to Bernie's unless they absolutely had to.

“Uh, yeah. Clint suggested him. We got a ride here from the Sherriff.” Clint knew about Bernie's less than stellar work ethics. He did this on purpose. Either Clint was angry at these two people, or he was miffed at her. If he valued his hide, it had better be the other two.

Her leg shot up a nasty spell of pain that made her gasp and lean on the door sharply. It closed with a bang and she bit her lip by accident. She rolled her tongue in the flow of copper tasting blood. Dammit, she hadn't done that in a while.

“Are you okay Ma'm?” The man's voice was sharp and worried. Evie shook her head and leaned heavily on her cane. Her arms were trembling and her chest constricting. She needed to sit down and take her medicine. She breathed through her nose deeply, recalling past breathing sessions that Frankie used to walk her through. When she was sure that she wasn't having a heart attack she shakily pulled the chain off the door and walked back slowly to open the door.

“If you're coming in then do it already.” She bit out, already moving back to the sitting room without waiting for them. She figured that if they were old enough to drive they were capable of shutting the door behind them. Evie had bigger things to worry about.

She shuffled to her chair and fell back into the worn cushion with a hiss. She dropped her cane to the side and reached into the drawer of the side table next to the chair. Two orange bottles with little white and orange pills rolled to the edge among the pens and notepads. She picked them both up and struggled to open the cap with her winkled hand.

“Damn, fucking, bitch of a whore-” She continued to darkly mutter curses at the bottle with each failed attempt. Just when she was about to try using her teeth a large hand entered her vision. She looked up and immediately thinking that she was having an episode. Captain America was crouched at her chair with one of her pill bottles already open and a hand held out for the one she was trying to open.

She blinked several times and counted her breaths. This was not a hallucination. He was not dressed in the uniform she had seen him in, but in more modern jeans and a t-shirt with a leather jacket over it. Added footsteps came from the kitchen and another man walked around the Captain with a glass of water in his right hand. He was dressed similarly, if in darker colors. His left hand was a metallic silver of a prosthetic. He had ragged brown hair pulled back in a low pony tail and had a pair of steel gray eyes.

“Can I?” The Captain, who's voice she recognized as the one who was speaking to her before, asked with worried blue eyes. She numbly nodded her head and dropped the pill bottle into his hand. He opened the cap with ease and looked in askance to her.

“Two of the white and one of the orange.” The bottles were running low, she'd have to refill them soon. The white pills were for the pain, while the orange was a fancy prescribed drug that her doctor gave her for her chest. He said to only use them when her heart had it's pain episodes, as the drug was 'highly addictive'. She probably stretched the line further than what her doctor had intended though. She hated relying on the medicine. She didn't trust it either. She was forced to get a new doctor when hers had died. Her old doctor was a sibling of hers, a nice man by the name of Markus. Her new doctor was a young and fresh faced babe of a man. And not a demigod.

“Thank you.” She grunted as he dropped the pills into her hand. The other man held the glass of water to her and she accepted it with a nod of thanks. She hated dry swallowing pills. After she was done Evie took the re-capped bottles and put them back in the drawer where she'd gladly like to forget their existence.

She leaned back in her chair and looked her guests over. They were two young men in their mid to late twenties. One of whom was Captain America, introduced as 'Steve'. The other man had no name and hadn't spoken yet. Evie frowned. Just what has Clint dropped on her lap now?

“You are Captain America.” She stated flatly, looking at Steve. Best to deal with him now. The other man could wait. He was too busy checking the room's weak points and escape routes to be too much of a bother. He was already Evie's favorite.

“Ah-” Steve looked awkward as he tried to fight a grimace and simultaneously look sheepish. Evie rolled her eyes and flapped a hand at him.

“I'm not a fan. That was Frankie and Clinton.” He froze, and leaned back in surprise. Evie refrained her smile, but only just.

“Clint was a fan?” He asked with apprehension. Why, she didn't know. What did it matter if Clint was a fan of Captain America? The boy was too busy wanting to learn archery as a kid to really get into the comic books, and he grew up listening to the stories of Greek heroes instead. Still, if Clint had shown any interest Evie would have, reluctantly, indulged in it.

“No, not my grandson. Clint was named after my husband and a close friend. Clinton Drewmore and Francis Walker. Clinton loved the hype of you and Frankie liked to play your movies and music all the time.” She frowned at him. “You are a terrible actor and whoever put you on the screen needed to be drowned. And all the songs about you are atrocious and are banned in this house.” She arched a brow at him as if daring him to try and defy her.

He stared at her in shock before a rueful smile overtook his face and he started to smile. “I always thought that too.” He admitted quietly. Evie snorted and would have smacked her cane to the ground if it was in her hands.

“Good. Now, I can't get up for a while so if you want something to drink you'll have to get it yourselves. If you don't then sit down and explain just what is going on.” She harrumphed. “I don't have a phone, landline or otherwise, so Clint had no way of telling me of what happened. I presume he didn't warn you of that.” Steve shook his head as he stood and took a seat. The other man flicked his eyes around once more and sat on the couch next to him. He was tense and looked ready to flee at a moment's notice.

“Are you alright though?” Steve looked between Evie and the drawer where her pills were. “You looked in pain earlier.” And she still was in pain. Sitting helped, and the medicine was slowly taking affect but it only did so much. Evie resisted the urge to rub her chest or leg.

“I'll be okay enough. It was just a bad flare up.” If Clint didn't tell them about how serious her injury was then she wasn't going to admit it. Hell, Clint didn't know how bad the flares could get himself. The boy worried over her too much as is. She didn't want him, or these guests, to hover over her every move.

“Now, tell me just what is going on. Start with who this fellow is.”

  


_1979:_

Evie closed the door behind the government woman. She heard the sound of shuffling in the sitting room. The boy was checking the place out, likely looking for exits. She'd have to lock it all down tonight.

Evie leaned her forehead on the wood door with a sigh. Damn it Mary. She runs off with a bum, refuses to come to her father's funeral, has two kids, dies, and now Evie is stuck raising one while the other is in the wind. Evie couldn't handle this. She was too old for this.

She needed Frankie.

She breathed harshly and squeezed her eyes shut to keep the tears away. She would not cry. Not now, not yet. There was a nine year old boy who needed her. She was not going to fail him, not like she did Mary. But, Gods, it was going to be hard. She could tell even now. His name alone. _Clinton Francis_ Barton. He had the names of the only two men Evie ever loved and respected. Mary never met Clinton, but she heard the stories of her parents' best friend. He was a bedtime hero who slayed hydra's and the monsters under the bed. An invisible protector.

“Get a grip.” Evie muttered under her breath. A couple of deep breaths later and she was back in the sitting room. Clint was right back where he was before, no evidence of his earlier investigation. She was slightly impressed.

Evie walked to her chair and sat down, feeling as though she had the weight of the world on her shoulders. It had been so long since she had to raise a kid. And she didn't do it right the first time. Clint watched her carefully with hooded eyes. He was thin from lack of food and fidgeted in his place. Anxious to leave. He looked like a hoodlum in baggy clothes two sizes too big. Evie made a mental note to fix that. They'd have to go into town, or even the city, and get him more clothes. She wondered what room to give him. Mary's old one? Evie hadn't been in there for so long though.

“Listen, I don't know who you are but-” Evie snapped a glare at him and stopped the boy mid-sentence. There were many things she could tolerate but idiocy and lying was not a part of it.

“You know damn well who I am.” She said, voice brooking no arguments. “I am your grandmother, Evelyn Walker. Your mother, Mary, was my daughter.” That stung deep. Her daughter was dead. Like Clinton and Frankie. She didn't even get to bury her own daughter. It was infuriating. It made her want to scream at the world. To curse everything to hell and back. This was too much. It was her curse to bear, but she didn't think she'd be able to bear it much longer.

“Some granny.” He was angry. Voice and body wound in distrust and bitterness developed on the streets and foster homes. It pissed her off. Everything pissed Evie off lately. “Where were you when mom died? You didn't care about me and Barney then and you don't now!” His hands were shaking, his whole body was trembling in fact. He must have been holding this in for a while now. Evie worked her jaw and bit back the vitrol she wanted to spit back.

Frankie would be better at this. She didn't do calm. She was the angry one, the one to get worked up. She was no good at calming others. But she had to do something. They can't both be angry at the world, and she was the adult in the situation. That left it to her.

“I didn't know you even existed.” She stated bluntly. It cut off his steam and he leaned back into his spot. Clint pulled his limbs closer and was well into his way of becoming a ball. Evie frowned as his still shoed feet got on the couch. She'd leave it be for now. He was having a hard time of it as well.

“There are rules to living here.” He didn't speak so she continued to a different topic. She didn't want to open that can of worms yet. Not ever, if possible. Evie ignored the pull of his mouth when she mentioned rules. She didn't care if he didn't like it. He was living under her roof now and unfortunately Clint wouldn't have Frankie here to help mitigate Evie's rough nature.

“The first rule, you will not go into the forest.” Monsters would sometimes stroll through there. Evie didn't know how much demigod blood ran through him or if he would smell tasty to them. Mary had little trouble when she was younger, so maybe it wouldn't be that bad. The boy had survived in travelling circus according to the Child Services agent, so it couldn't be that bad. It always good to be a little cautious though.

Judging the gleam in his eye however, it looked like he already planned on breaking that rule. “Second, you will help around the house. Chores, like any other kid. You will go to school in September.” That she didn't really care about, but it was required by the state. Clint's expression soured more and more with each addition. She could practically see him planning how to escape now. He had that same mulish tic that Frankie did when he was being deliberately obtuse. That would be trouble. If he was anything like his mother she'd have to nip this in the bud of he'll be gone by morning.

A passing thought floated by. It sent shivers down her spine and her palms go into a cold sweat. The agent had said Clint had a particular talent that he used in the circus. She warned Evie that he might want to get involved with it again. Archery.

Evie shook her head to get rid of the images running through her head. Now was not the time for some shell shocked episode. Clint was here. He needed her to be in her right mind and sane. He was still plotting from his corner of the couch. Eyes darting all around the room and eyeing the stairs. He wanted to leave the room but was hesitant to do so. Waiting for her permission. A contradiction to his earlier anger, so he was nervous about her.

_Come on Evie- it's the only familiar thing he'll have._

Evie did not look to Frankie's transparent visage out of pure will and conditioned practice. He wasn't real. She knew this. Frankie was dead and in Elysium with Clinton and they were waiting for her there. Not that she thought she'd be granted that place in death.

This was just a hallucination caused by her loneliness and sorrow following his death. Beside him, Clinton appeared with a cocky grin straight from his teenage years. He tapped the quiver at his hip and whistled a jaunty tune.

_It'll be a bonding experience! What else can you two connect to?_

Anything else, she thought with a hiss. Still, they had a point. Clint and her had little in common that wasn't blood. This was something she knew, if hated. She didn't know his talent or knowledge of the art, but if what the agent had hinted at it was good. demigod good.

“If you can follow those rules and listen to me,” Evie started, heart clenching and stomach dropping at the thought of what she was about to say. If Frankie could see her now. “I'll set up some targets and we'll see just how good with a bow you are.” The boy stilled. Hazel eyes looked up at her warily.

“Samantha said that I wouldn't do that anymore.” Samantha was the agent in charge of his case. She would likely not approve of what Evie was suggesting. Too bad that Evie didn't care. She made her decision and that was that.

“She said you didn't have to, not that you couldn't.” Evie shrugged. “I don't know how Mary raised you and your brother but things will be different here. Until they find him and bring him here we might as well do something that we both know.” Evie sighed with a scowl. She was going to have a hard time of this. She didn't even know if she had any bows or quivers left. There had been several demigods in the last few weeks who had stopped by. She hadn't checked her stocks.

“You know how to use a bow?” Clint had uncurled slightly. Not by much, but it was enough to let her know this was the right choice. Beside her, the ghosts smiled smugly. She ignored them with a violent will. They would disappear soon enough. They always do.

“Archery. Call it what it is.” Evie grabbed her cane and hauled herself up. She needed to start dinner and he needed to find a room. Mary's might not be good but the guest room should be fine for now.

“I don't know how good you are with a bow, but I can tell you it's in your blood, starting from your great-grandfather. Mary was never interested but she was good.” Mary didn't like archery, no matter how good she was with it. Evie wondered if the other boy, Barney, was any good as well.

“Mom knew archery too?” Clint followed Mary as she walked into the kitchen. Evie smiled ruefully. It looked like there was no going back from this. She nodded her head and started to pull things out for their meal.

“Taught her myself.” Evie made sure that Mary knew all the forms to perfection, like she herself did. Evie didn't know how many times she had spent in the archery range after hours at camp practicing back in the day. She hated her difference from her siblings. She wanted to be just as good as them with the bow and arrow. No matter how good her stance or how favorable the conditions, she would miss.

“I don't need teaching.” Evie turned to him at that with raised eyebrows. Clint was standing straight with his chest puffed out. He had the confidence of a child who thinks he knew the world already. It amused her.

“Oh really?” She asked archly. Clint dipped his head and smirked wildly at her. It made her heart stop. That was Frankie all there, with Mary's mischievousness and Evie's own bravado. If she ever doubted his relation, Evie would have seen the proof right then.

“I'm the Amazing Hawkeye. I don't miss.” Well, well, well. Looks like she had a hero in training then. Evie smiled toothily and turned back to the stew she was making. Maybe she'd need to IM Chiron for some advice. Clint looked like a boy with lots of energy. Maybe she'll be able to teach him more than just archery.

 


	5. A Mirror, No Matter How Warped, Still Shows a Perfect Reflection

_1943:_

Evelyn's shoulders were tight. She was hiding behind the trunk of a tree in the dense European forest. There was a clearing beyond her, and the other two boys were fighting for their lives. Francis was fighting the other enemy demigod. There were words being exchanged but she didn't know what. Behind them was a large chest with gold engravings. Pandora's box.

The lid was cracked, and a black miasma was leaking out into the air. It wasn't a direct cause of the world war, but it was egging it on. The war won't end completely until they seal the box for good. She had only just caught up after taking down a Minotaur that tried to stop them. She stayed behind and let the other two go ahead. She didn't see where Clinton was, which wasn't a good sign.

She peered around the tree and winced as her leg twitched in pain. The Minotaur caught her by surprise and managed to drive one of his horns into her thigh. She managed to kill him at the same time but his horn stayed in her leg even after he dissolved. She couldn't take the thing out without risking major blood loss.

If she kept it there however, she'd have permanent damage. She wasn't a nurse like her siblings, but even she could tell that much. Evelyn glanced down at the injury and back to Francis. He was having trouble. He fought with a dagger, Katropis. A gift from his mother. It was a terrible match to the lance the other demigod was using.

He needed help. Evelyn swallowed the pain and gripped her sword tight. There was no time, she'd have to trust that Clinton was okay and planning something. She dashed out into the clearing and cut down the wind spirits that the demigod had called to guard the area. He must have been the son of a minor wind god.

“You can't stop it!” The demigod smacked the side of Francis' face with the butt of his lance. Francis fell to the side with a cut above his eye. Katropis was out of reach and the enemy held the lance at Francis' throat. Evelyn rushed in a limping run and swung her sword, forcing him to defend himself. Francis used the distraction to scramble for his dagger and stand next to Evelyn. The demigod took a few steps back and grinned manically at them. His eyes were clouded with the miasma, turning a bright green into a muddy discoloration.

“The box is already open. Nothing can stop it now. Not even demigods like you.” His voice was dual toned. A female alto overlaying his deep baritone. Francis didn't seem to notice because the voices were so close in pitch. She could hear the minute differences however.

“Pandora.” She announced. The ancient woman must have possessed the demigod and cracked the lid. The man smiled demurely and curtsied.

“Not many can tell that. I wonder, whose child are you?” She punctuated the question with a lunge. Evelyn cursed and dodged, falling to the ground as her injury kept her from moving as smoothly as she would have liked. Pandora cackled and clashed against Francis once again.

“Pathetic!” She screamed. The crack on the box enlarged and the blast of miasma knocked them all back. Pandora was the first back on her feet, a smile still on the male face. Evelyn clutched at her leg, the pain becoming nigh unbearable. She cursed under her breath.

“Why are you doing this?” Francis asked desperately. “Why would you let loose everything inside there again? After what happened the last time? This won't do anyone any good! Please, **close the box.** ” He stressed the last words with charm-speak. Pandora wavered on his feet but didn't move.

“Silly boy, you can use that gift all you want. It won't work.” Pandora smirked. “The box isn't just open, it's broke. I can't fix that no matter what. And why? Ask this guy. He's the one who opened it. I'm just along for the ride.” That didn't make sense. The man was obviously being controlled.

As Pandora spoke Evelyn caught sight of Clinton. He was sneaking from the behind with his bow drawn. He was caked in mud and dark blood and had a large bruise on his face. She didn't know what he just got through but it must have been tough.

Pandora didn't see him. Evelyn writhed as she got an idea. Pandora was connected to the man because he opened the box, or that was what she implied. She was using him as a host and they wouldn't be able to get to box until she was gone.

“All anyone thinks about this box is the bad stuff. They don't remember how the story ends.” Pandora went on. “At the bottom of box, after all the terrible things, is one golden light. Hope.” She sighed with the man's mouth, a dreamy expression on her face.

“I want to see that again. That hope. It's so beautiful. Don't you want to see that? To have it graced on the world again?” At what price? The world was killing itself and soon there wouldn't be anything left. Europe was a disaster zone that would take years to fix. How many people have died for this?

Evelyn closed her eyes an breathed through the pain. She had an idea, but it had a minimal chance of working. She was Apollo's daughter, even if no one thought it. She had none of his talents save one, and she had ignored it.

_The sun rises in the dark of dismay_

_A song of hope to bring forth the day_

“You are my sunshine,” Evelyn started to sing. She hadn't done this in years, since her mother had made it something she hated. Evelyn had once promised herself that she would never sing again, in spite to her mother and later to her father. Now it was the only thing that could work.

“My only sunshine. You make me happy, when the skies are gray.” She started small, voice quivering and cracked. Nothing was happening. They were all staring at her in surprise. She had to try harder. Evelyn brought forward happy memories. The one time her mother smiled at her, the first time she won a fight at camp, listening to Clinton's rants during the patrols, Francis teasing her lack of cooking.

Her voice gained strength and grew louder but it wasn't working still. Happiness wasn't what she needed. Hope. She needed hope. Evelyn pictured the times when she tried to shoot a bow. How she practiced and trained, perfecting her form and aim. How she felt each time she stood in front of that target. How she hoped and prayed that it would work _this one time_.

Or the times she tried helping in the infirmary, trying to ignore the rolling of her stomach at the sight of the injured parties and the smell of drying herbs and ambrosia. She called forth her time with her siblings during the recreation time, when she attempted to play an instrument. Or the time she auditioned for the play they put on two summers ago.

Evelyn called forth each time she had hoped beyond herself for something. For belonging. She hoped and hoped and dreamed. She wanted to be recognized, to be known as a proud daughter of Apollo. She wanted her father to know who she was.

“Oh please, don't take my sunshine away,” She thought of the time Apollo had come to visit. How she felt before meeting him. That tremendous fluttering of her heart and the butterflies in her gut. She had never had higher hopes than then.

Pandora wavered in her spot, dropping the lance with a dazed look. She reached out a hand and slowly an ethereal spirit body left the man as Pandora tried to get closer to Evelyn.

“Yes.” She breathed. “That's what I want. What a beautiful sight!” Pandora was halfway out of the man's body, the connection between them weakened. Evelyn glanced back to Clinton and locked gazes with him as she continued to sing. He nodded his head and pulled back his arrow and fired with a sure aim. The arrow slid through the air silently and landed in the man's leg. He screamed in pain, Pandora following right after and the connection was severed. Pandora was forced out of the man's mind as he fell to the ground. Her spirit rose into the air and dissipated with a howl.

The box cracked even more. Evelyn sagged in place as a tiredness overtook her. She had never used her 'powers' before. She wasn't sure if she liked them. Singing still had a bad stigma for her, but she supposed that it was worth it in the end.

Clinton jogged over and helped Francis in getting her to her feet. The three hobbled to the box. Pandora was right. It wasn't open, but broke. How were they supposed to fix that? Clinton frowned and looked closely at the engravings on the box.

“What do we do?” Francis asked. Being this close to the box was dangerous. Evelyn could feel as despair, sorrow, anger, and a whole slew of negative emotions swayed her mind and body. It whispered at her. Told her that if she wanted to be free from it she should finish the job; open the box all the way.

“I don't suppose you can charm it back inside?” She asked wryly. It would be nice. She doubted it though. It was too powerful, a force of nature. Nothing could convince that thing to go back. Clinton shook his head before Francis could answer.

“No, but I have an idea.” He pulled out a canister. It had the symbol of Hermes on the side. He grinned cheekily at them as he twirled it in his hand. “I was told this can hold anything. I say we give it a shot.” Evelyn opened and closed her mouth several times in shock. He couldn't be serious!

Francis looked between the canister and the miasma warily. “It's worth a try at least. I don't like being near this. It's getting inside my head.” Evelyn understood. The miasma was doing the same to her, twisting her emotions and memories to it's own liking. The only reason she hadn't given in to the pressure was from how weak she was feeling. Her injury took all of her energy and will, leaving behind only a numbness that let the miasma wash over her with little damage. She didn't want to find out how long it would take until that stopped working.

“Here goes!” Clinton pointed the canister to the open crack and opened the lid. The miasma immediately was sucked inside at breakneck speed. The canister swallowed the smoke in a whirlwind that made it hard for Clinton to control. Francis and Evelyn grabbed onto the canister to help him steady it

After what seemed like hours that was only minutes the miasma was gone, and the box empty. Clinton capped the lid and they all fell to the ground in exhaustion. They did it. They completed the quest and won. Pandora's box was closed, in a sense, and the world could start healing again.

  
  


_2012:_

Evie eyed Clint carefully. He was quiet, somber. He helped around the house without complaint and hovered around her like an overprotective gargoyle. It was annoying and worrisome. Something had happened that wasn't an alien invasion.

It was dinner, Clint had cooked meatloaf. They were eating at the table in silence, Evie watching her grandson and Clint going through the motions of eating. She let it go on for a bit longer before it was too much.

“What is SHIELD?” Clint fumbled with his forkful of food, nearly spilling it on himself. Evie continued as if nothing had happened, eyeing him shrewdly. “Don't give me that security company crack. I'm old not stupid.” And if he insisted on telling her that she'd have to kick his ass.

Clint thinned his lips and set his fork down. He wasn't looking her in the eyes, or in the face at all. He was looking at his lap, where his hands were clenched into fists. Evie scowled but waited. He'd tell her, sooner or later.

Clint visible warred with himself inside, eyes flickering from side to side in thought. He reminded her of Mary then. She would always do that when she was unsure about something. When her morals were challenged. Frankie said that Mary got it from Evie. She didn't believe him.

“SHIELD is an intelligence company, like the CIA only on a more world-wide scale.” He finally spoke up. Evie pursed her lips and took a drink of her lemonade. Intelligence company. Government. She didn't like it.

“You shouldn't give your skills out so freely.” It was a light chastisement. He knew how she felt about the government and her opinion on him letting them use his gift. He was a dangerous man. If he let the wrong people give him orders bad things could happen. She didn't want that for him. She had told him all of that when he joined the army and became a special corps ranger.

“I know Gran.” He said tiredly. Evie let it drop. No need to drag that argument up again. “Phil was my handler.” Phil Coulson. She liked the man. Polite, kind, and lethal. Her type of man really. He came over for holidays sometimes, accompanying Clint and Natasha when available. Those were good times.

“I suppose they can't be that bad.” She admitted. If Phil was there then it was better. Natasha was there as well, which helped. Evie's brows furrowed as she caught a part of his statement after a pause. “He _was_ your handler?” That was past tense.

Clint's shoulders bowed and he propped his elbows on the table to hold his head in his hands. His fingers gripped at his hair and she could see pain in his eyes as tears leaked out.

“I killed him.” Oh. That – that changed things. Evie sat her glass down and pushed her plate away. She licked her lips and blinked back the image of a boy grinning with an outstretched hand.

“I see.” Not exactly, but enough anyway. There was no way Clint actually physically killed Phil. Evie knew this in her bones. But he still blamed himself, so he was involved and it had something to do with the invasion.

“Start from the beginning.” This was going to be a long night. Evie glanced to the wall in the sitting room. There were framed pictures hanging that showed Clint in his youth to when he left at eighteen. There used to be pictures of Mary and Frankie there, but she had long moved those to the attic.

She eyed one in particular. It was a picture of Clint at thirteen, in the middle of firing an arrow at the range. His form had finally gotten out of the backwards shift he used in the circus and he was smiling before the arrow even hit the target. He knew it was going to make it.

The Clint of then and now were far apart, but were the same person. She didn't know the full story but she'll bring that bright smile back if its the last thing she did. Clint was the last thing for her in this life, and she wasn't going to let depression and guilt take him away.

  
  


_2016:_

New York had not changed at all.

Evie stared out of the window of the car with scorn. The traffic was awful, people milled the streets with no care for the world around them, and the weather was cold. She did not miss this and immediately wanted to go back to her home in Kansas. Why she let Clint convince her to come was a mystery. Why couldn't they just keep the normal tradition?

“What do you think?” Clint turned in his seat up front like a child to look at her. Natasha was driving, a decision she both thought wise and horrific. Natasha was a speed demon who swerved through lanes with barely a flick of the blinker and a smile at the curses and horns blasted their way. This type of driving demanded a seat belt and was bad for Evie's weak heart. Yet, it meant getting to their destination quicker so she didn't completely disapprove.

“I want to go home.” She stated flatly. Clint's smile turned into a pout that did not fool her in the slightest. He was having too much fun with this.

“Come on Gran! Don't you want to spend two whole months with me? I thought you missed me!” Evie snorted and looked back to the passing surroundings. People, cars, and dogs. Still the same. She didn't know what Steve had meant when he said that he would get overwhelmed by the changes to the city.

“I stayed with you for nine years straight. Isn't that enough?” Not nearly, but she wouldn't tell him that. Natasha laughed at Clint's outraged squawk. “Besides. You could have come to me and stayed and I would have been perfectly fine.” And back home. She didn't like being away, and she was going to be gone for another two months. She hadn't been gone from that house for such a stretch of time since Frankie's death. She never considered it. Now that she will, Evie couldn't help but worry. Will Frankie's gift still be there when she got back? Or will it leave now that she's not there? She didn't know all the limitations or powers of the ring of flowers around her house.

Clint complained and snarked with Natasha, pulling Evie in every now and then to keep her mind from wandering too much. As they passed by a hospital she remembered the state of her pills. She hesitated before speaking, knowing that it would worry Clint. Still, it was something that she couldn't ignore.

“We will need to get some of my prescriptions refilled at some point this week. I couldn't bring some of them with me on the plane.” And the others were almost out if she remembered right. She didn't bother filling them back up before flying over because she only got her discount when she bought all of the medicine at once.

Natasha frowned at her in the rear view mirror. “Which ones?” Evie pulled her purse onto her lap and rummaged through it until she found a worn out crown royal bag that she used to hold her pill bottles. It was the best she could find at short notice, not wanting to go all the way to the city to get a proper pill bag.

“My heart, blood pressure, and pain pills.” The others had some time left until she had to refill them. Clint looked at the number of bottles in the bag with a scowl. He leaned over the back of his chair and peeked inside the bag to count the others.

“That's more than you usually take.” He was right. Evie's new doctor, Xander Newman, had given a whole new slew of meds. She didn't like it. Some gave her side effects that had her dizzy or tired and others she had never heard of before. She debated on visiting the camp at some point and asking Chiron if there were any of her siblings who went into the doctor's practice nearby for her to consult.

“I'm old.” She groused. “What did you expect? Newman thinks I'm going to keel over so he tells me to take all of these.” She dropped the bag back into her person with a huff. Clint knew her distaste for her meds and the doctors who prescribed them to her. She missed her old doc.

Clint hummed but dropped the subject. They had quiet conversation after that, talking on what had happened in their time apart and whatnot. Clint, it seemed, really had caught the hero bug. He was describing a fantastical battle against robot kittens in Florida as they pulled into the private parking at Stark Tower.

“-And then I do my thing and Stark does his thing and the shield went down, giving Thor and Hulk the chance to go to town.” Evie was sure that somewhere in that story, there was an exaggeration. Clint continued describing how the duo smacked the kittens into the swamps as he lifted Evie's luggage from the trunk. Natasha helped Evie get out of the car, piping in her own comments on the battle with a wry smile.

Evie was grateful for the distraction. Her leg pains have been getting worse and it was harder to move around now. She hated needing help to do anything, from walking to getting out of cars, but it was necessary now. If she wasn't careful and gave her leg the rest it needed the pain would agitate her chest and threaten an heart attack. At her age, that was a death sentence.

Natasha had parked next to the elevator so the walk wasn't that far before they were on their way up the tower floors. Evie leaned some of her weight on the bar on the elevator wall and looked around. It was a clean chrome thing that shined so good she could see her reflection.

“Oh! I told you about Jarvis right?” Evie side eyed Clint balefully. Yes, he had. Clint had told her every little detail, and what he didn't Steve and James did when they visited last year. He was testing her, judging if her memory was still in tact. She felt a slight want to smack him for it.

“Yes, I remember all about the fancy robot man in the system.” She shook her head at him. “Excuse my grandson for his bad manners. I blame the circus.” She announced to the ceiling. There was a silence, and she refused to let her apprehension show. If she just talked to the elevator for nothing she _would_ murder Clint and vow Natasha into silence.

“It is of no problem Ms. Walker. If there is anything I can be of service to, please just ask.” The voice was a smooth English with an almost unnoticeable electronic edge. He would be an amazing singer, she decided. Clint smiled smugly and Natasha rolled her eyes as she placed some bills into his open palm.

“Call me Gran or Evie, Ms. Walker is too stuffy.” And it made her think of Frankie which still hurt to this day. Jarvis settle on Evie and the rest of the ride was smooth and quaint. The elevator doors opened to an open room with a large couch and TV with an open bar and kitchen around an alcove and a dining table sitting on the other side.

It was a modern concept with fee space and lots of walking room. Evie supposed she liked it, preferring her small and more cozy home.

Clint led her to a chair that was obviously new, purposely bought for her stay. It was gliding chair with black cushions and a matching step stool. She sat down and leaned back with a sigh, irritated at the feeling of relief from her leg. At this rate she really was going to need a wheelchair.

Now that was a traitorous thought.

“Mamma Bird!” Evie looked back to the elevator where none other than Tony Stark himself walked into the room. He was dressed in torn jeans and a faded t-shirt covered in oil grease, a black smudge on his cheek. It was a side of him she never saw from the news or magazines sitting in convenience stores. She found that she liked it more than the business guru. That name though.

“If you're as much as an asshole as your father I will demand to be returned to my home.” Evie announced. Stark nearly fell flat on his face in his surprise, amusing her greatly. Serves him right for calling her that. Behind her chair Clint was roaring with laughter, and she wouldn't be surprised if he was leaning over her luggage with tears in his eyes.

“Merida, may I ask for your grandmother's hand in marriage? I think I just fell in love.” Stark righted himself quickly, a smile overtaking his face making his eyes crinkle with mirth. Evie scoffed and tapped her cane on the ground.

“I'm out of your league.” She told him smartly. “And call me Evie or Gran, _not_ Mamma Bird. I will have nothing to do with Clint's aviary obsession.” She had no idea where he got it from but he insisted on using that name as his tag.

“Jarvis, treat her as the queen she is. Boss's orders.” Evie laughed.

 


	6. Hate or Love, Curse or Blessing : Two Coins That Can Never Be Traded

_1943:_

Something wasn't right.

They had made it halfway over the continent and was on their way to the ocean to catch a ship back to America. Evelyn's leg was wrapped tight and she forced herself to limply walk on it to keep from tiring the other two down.

Francis was sleeping by the smoldering campfire, the dawn had yet to break. Evelyn had just woke up with a cold sweat. Clinton wasn't by the fire. His roll was empty, quiver and bow left behind. She frowned and got up with a wince and grabbed his things. Wherever he was, she was going to kick his ass for forgetting his things.

She didn't have to go very far to find him. He was standing by a creek, the canister with Pandora's miasma in his hand. Evelyn tensed as a sense of uneasiness overtook her. She shifted in her spot and cracked a twig. Clinton turned around and smiled at her.

“Do you remember the last part of the prophecy?” He asked her quietly. Evelyn hesitated, not liking the subdued nature of Clinton's expression. Behind her were footsteps, Francis stepped up beside her with a yawn.

“What's going on?” He asked. Clinton kept looking at Evelyn, a strange light in his eyes. Something was wrong, and she didn't know what it was.

“Do you remember the last line of the prophecy?” He repeated, glancing to Francis. The other boy frowned and blinked the tiredness out of his eyes when he saw Clinton's oddness. He noticed the feeling in the air too then.

“Uh, I don't-” He looked to Evelyn for help. Her fingers were tingling and she felt the hair on the back of her neck raise. Evelyn swallowed her suddenly dry throat and fingered the bow's string in her hand.

“ _A choice to be made, a toll to be paid, a soul you must trade._ ” She had been thinking of the line since they defeated Pandora. It was like it's own mini prophecy at the end of the first one. She hadn't understood it, but figured it meant Pandora's soul for sealing the box.

She wasn't so sure now.

Clinton held the canister in his hands and smiled down sadly at it. “I've been thinking.” He started, hands moving close to the cap. Evelyn and Francis both froze in horror. “I think I know what it meant.” Gray eyes darkened and his smile stretched into a toothy grin. His hands gripped the cap and twisted it enough to crack. Miasma started to leak out a trail of black smoke.

“Did you really think that I was gone?” Pandora asked with Clinton's face. Francis jumped back and flipped his knife into his hand while Evelyn did what was instinctive for her. She straightened her back and stood tall with a drawn bow. The arrow pointed at Clinton's chest. Pandora laughed wildly.

“I've seen his memories!” She boasted. “I know that you can't hit a target if it was three feet in front of you!” Evelyn didn't move from her stance, though hearing the words from the dual tones of Pandora and Clinton hurt. Because while it was Pandora was the one speaking she could hear Clinton's voice say it as well.

“Can you bring her out again?” Francis asked her lowly. Evelyn doubted it. That had been a miracle back there. She would have trouble calling forth that feeling of hope again, and Pandora wouldn't fall for the same trick twice. Pandora heard the question.

“Like I'll fall for that again!” She snarled. “And it won't matter! Cast me out and seal the box a thousand times and it won't work! I possess whoever holds my box. No matter what! I will open this and see that hope spark!” Pandora then went to open the canister. Evelyn's heart constricted. They would be too slow to stop her.

Clinton's hands stopped mid movement. His face twisted as Pandora growled in frustration. “Why won't you move?” She muttered. Clinton's nose started to bleed and sweat was pouring from his forehead. “Stop, fighting me!” Evelyn heard Francis gasp in surprise.

“ **Don't give up! Fight her! Come back to us Clint!** ” The blood gushed more as Francis used his charm-speak to compel Clinton to fight Pandora's hold on him. His eyes rolled back for a terrifying moment and then went back to normal, the black cloud gone.

“Hey guys.” He panted. Evelyn smiled with a tremble and started to lower her arms. Clinton shook his head wildly and shouted at her.

“Don't!” Her muscles locked at the barking order. Like a general shouting orders at his soldiers. She felt a compulsion almost like what Francis could do, only this was of her own volition. Clinton was the leader of the quest, and what he says goes. She willingly followed him, and he must have a plan for what to do next.

“She's still there, fighting me. I don't have long.” Evelyn traded a worried look with Francis. That wasn't good, if she opened the canister all of the horrors of humanity will be unleashed on earth again. The small leak was bad enough to encourage a world war. What would the whole thing do?

“What do we do then?” She asked, lifting the bow back into position. It was the only thing she could think to do, even if she was a terrible shot. Francis worried his lip with his teeth.

“Can you toss me the canister?” He asked Clinton. “She can't open it if she doesn't have it.” That seemed like a good idea. They could trade the canister around through the journey home, move it so much that she wouldn't be able to control someone long enough to open it.

“That won't work.” Clinton shook his head. “It's not just her, the thing itself is compelling me.” What then? What could they do? Evelyn wasn't a planner, she was a fighter. It was a barbaric concept associated with the Ares kids but it applied to her as well. She had no idea as to what they could do. They couldn't let the canister open.

“Pandora is connected with the box and the miasma itself. Take one out, you get the other.” Clint explained slowly with a strained voice. Veins were popping in his face and eyes. Pandora was fighting him. They won't have much time.

“We can't destroy the box!” She shouted. “It's not a physical thing, it's human nature itself! How do we destroy that?” It was impossible. A sword won't cut that, it'll only glide through it harmlessly. Clinton grinned a bloody smile.

“We don't destroy the box.” Evelyn shook her head in confusion. What was he talking about? “We take out Pandora.” Evelyn felt the urge to scream at the idiot.

“I can't draw her out like that again! She won't fall for it!” And Evelyn wasn't sure that it would work a second time. She was acting blindly back there, and her voice was still cracking horribly from the power that she used in the singing. She sounded like she had a stroke.

“Maybe I can compel her with my charm-speak.” Francis suggested. Evelyn didn't think that was a good idea either.

“She's too close to the canister for that. We'd have to let her have control of Clinton for a moment and we can't guarantee that your charm-speak will work. The only reason why I could do it was because I invoked something she was craving after.” And she said herself that she wouldn't fall for it again. Francis grimaced, reluctantly agreeing.

“Then there's only one way.” They looked back to Clinton. His face was turning purple and his mouth was becoming blue. Pandora was killing him. “Evie is right, the box doesn't have a physical presence. But right now, Pandora does.” What? Clinton smiled wider.

“It'll have to be you Evie. She'll see Frankie coming and upsurge her power and take control. Even now, she doesn't think you'll make the shot. She won't see it coming.” Evelyn shook her head. He couldn't be serious. Evelyn wouldn't be able to make the shot anyway! And even if she could, that would mean killing him. She couldn't do that! She...

“You know, I watched you practice at night. I always thought you looked beautiful with a bow in hand, focus on your target an fingers ready to release the arrow. It's a breathtaking sight, even now.” His grin softened into something sweeter.

“Each time you shot, I always thought it'd hit. I still believe that now. Shoot me. You'll make it, I know.” Evelyn's chest was heaving and her eyes were crying. She could barely see him through the water, and her arms were shaking with something more than strain.

By all rights, she should have missed.

“I love you.”

“ _ **NOOOOOOO!”**_

  


_2016:_

Christmas was a nightmare. In the end she went with something simple for each of the Avengers. There was a lovely shop for demigods in the mall that was owned by Aphrodite. She owned a chain of stores across America, mostly for clothes but she was convinced by Ares to allow sections with more war worthy merchandise.

Natasha got a silk gown that shimmered a teal green in the light to look like running water. With it was a garter belt with attachments for knives. It cost a pretty penny but it was worth it from the way Natasha smiled.

Tony got a tourist trap of a gift she found in the store. Why the bronze dragon that moved and flew like the real deal was so popular she did not know. The cashier had squealed as said that it was just like the one at camp. Evie had decided to not think too much on it because last she knew Camp Half-Blood did not have a dragon. The man looked like he wanted to take it apart to find out how it worked, but refrained. He probably was going to wait until later to do so.

Thor was the easiest to get a gift for. There was a faux nemian lion blanket that was the perfect size for the large man and she thought that it would take to his Asgardian nature. She wasn't sure if he was a real God or not, but he acted like one might expect – If they hadn't seen the real deal growing up. He appreciative of the gift and said he would treasure it for all time. He better have, since it cost more than the dress.

Bruce was given a set of herbal teas that she was assured would help with calmness and focus from a daughter of Demeter. She also had a list written out of other teas and plants that exemplify those aspects for him. She was sorry at the rather lackluster gift but he didn't look disappointing thankfully.

James got a set of celestial bronze daggers much like the ones that she gifted Natasha one year. They were all of varying sizes and had their own sharpening kit. She instructed him to only use that kit to sharpen them, and vica versa. It would ruin the blades if he wasn't careful. She knew that he preferred guns, but everyone needed a good knife set in Evelyn's opinion.

Steve's was a complete painting and drawing order. It came with canvases, paints, sketch books, and pencils. With it were several books she encouraged him to read, all of them from old strategy themes to classics she thought he would enjoy.

Clint got a set of celestial bronze arrows and his namesake's old bow and quiver. It hurt for her to let it go, but Clint would need it more than her now. She told him to only use the arrows in an emergency, as that they were rare. A white lie, but needed. Clint thanked her, speaking over Tony's questions on the metal tips. She never told Clint of the significance of the gift. He didn't need to know.

All of Evie's gifts were wonderful and she truly enjoyed them, and the humor involved with them, but Steve took the cake. He worked in tandem with Clint and Tony to make an album for her. It was an album of the pictures that were damaged from the leak in her attic that Steve and James fixed last year. Her fingers trembled as she flicked through the hand drawn and painted images. There were pictures of Her and Frankie, Mary as a baby, them all together, one group picture of her final year at camp and – the most important one.

Clinton had been insistent that day. He demanded they get their picture taken before they left of the quest for Pandora's box. And at the very end of the album the picture was recreated in color. Steve was explaining how he did guess work on the colors and that he was sorry if they weren't completely correct. Evie let the words wash over her as she cried. Wrinkled fingers touched the boyish faces grinning back at her, the younger Evie looking bored as hell in between them.

“I haven't seen these smiles in so long.” She croaked, stopping Steve's tirade. “Thank you.” Tears were cascading down her face like a waterfall. Evie could die right then and there, and she'd be happy. Her grandson was grown and had found his own family of friends, he was doing something he loved with good people.

And she got to see the two greatest loves of her life in color one last time.

She was happy.

  


_1943:_

Her fingertips were bleeding. Evelyn hissed through the pain as she shot another arrow, heart breaking as it struck true. In the pavilion the fire was still burning for Clinton, giving the night an orange glow. Everyone was still there, mourning the loss. Everyone save for Evelyn. She remained in the archery range with a long string of targets laid out. She was crying. Whether it was from the pain in her heart or the throbbing pulse on her leg injury she didn't know.

All the targets had arrows in them. It contrasted the image of when Clinton asked her to join the quest. She had stood in the same spot, firing arrow after arrow. She missed every shot. Clinton had walked in with a laughing grin and shot one of his own cockily to purposely rile her up.

Evelyn let out a sob with the next arrow, falling to her knees as it hit the bulls-eye. No matter how hard she tried, she wouldn't miss. She finally had the very gift she wanted. But what use was it when with each hit she saw Clinton. She saw him standing there, hand held out as if asking to dance with a near bloody grin on his face. With each shot she saw the arrow pierce his chest once more. Sticking out comically as he laughed.

Evelyn crouched into the dirt until she was in the fetal position, sobbing pathetically. She wanted to scream. To break her vocal chords on her misery and pain from the unfairness. If this was the price she didn't want it. She'd gladly be a terrible archer if it meant bringing Clinton back.

“Evie.” Evelyn shuddered at the name. Clinton had insisted on calling her that. Got Francis to follow suit. She had hated it so much. Evelyn ignored Francis as he sat down beside her, not wanting to deal with him. She didn't want to look at the other boy. A reminder of what she did. Of the blood on her hands.

Of Clinton's smiling face and the arrow striking his heart.

“Evie.” His voice was soft, and pitiful. It pissed her off. Francis tried to haul her into an embrace but she fought him. She balled her fists and smacked him, tears blurring her vision and making her choke on her words. Francis didn't stop however, and eventually Evelyn found herself in a one-sided hug with her arms pinned to her sides.

“Why?” She asked hoarsely. “Why won't it stop? Why does it hurt so much? I want it to stop! I want to stop seeing him!” She looked up at the night sky with a hole in her chest. She wondered if this was what it felt to have the arrow strike there.

“He was your best friend. Of course it hurts.” Francis verbally paused and she felt his arms tighten around her. “But, you also loved him. He was your first love.” That couldn't be true. Evelyn shook her head with a grimace as more tears streamed down her face. She couldn't have loved him. She hated him.

She hated him so much. His stupid laugh, that cocky smile, how he never listened to her. She hated him. Evelyn hated Clinton with every fiber in her being. She even hated him now, the bastard. Making her kill him like that. He had the gall to smile through it as well! She hated him.

Evelyn let out a keening cry as her heart constricted with the multiple images running through her head. Every little irritating thing and instance about Clinton were branded on her soul. And with each memory her heart broke more, and she felt as if she was being killed on the inside. She would never forgive Clinton for this. She would hate him for the rest of her life.

Evelyn brought her forehead to Francis' chest and sobbed into his shirt. He didn't comment further and just held her close. His arms were shaking around her, and she felt his own head bend down to touch her back. She pretended to not feel the slowly growing wetness on the back of her shirt as he cried as well.

They stayed there well into the night, mourning the loss of their beloved friend.

 


End file.
